You Were Right All Along
by Splendidly Sarah
Summary: The sequel to 'My Dearest Sherlock'. Molly's relationship with Sherlock evolves into something neither of them expected it to be...can they handle it? Will Sherlock tell Molly how he feels before it's too late? MollyxSherlock JohnxMary
1. Actions Speak Louder Than Words

**OH MY GOSH IT FEELS LIKE IT HAS BEEN SO LONG! **

**I MISS YOU ALL!**

**Okay, a new story note that I don't own anything Sherlock, except my Mary. She's mine. Go away.**

**I hope that you all enjoy this, and I hope it has as good of a reception as 'My Dearest Sherlock'!**

**Enjoy, duckies!**

'Put your hand right here! You can feel him kick!' Mary guided my hand to the side of her now very large belly. She pressed in and I could feel little thumps against my hand.

'That's weird! It's like a little alien!' I hadn't changed very much in the past four months, and my inability to say the right thing hadn't changed either. Luckily Mary knew me well enough to know that I didn't think her baby was an alien…just the idea of another human being inside of Mary seemed…well, alien.

In fact, she laughed. 'It really is sort of odd! Thinking that John and I…we have a baby!' She traced patterns lovingly across her stomach. 'It's been five and a half months and it still seems so surreal.'

'Do you have any names picked out for him?'

'I'm quite fond of Aidan. John really likes his own middle name. Hamish. It sounds like deli meat.'

'I agree. Hamish Watson. It doesn't sound very nice.'

'I recently thought about Oliver. Oliver Watson. I think it has a nice ring to it. It's like I can picture myself calling him Ollie.' Mary got this far off look in her eye and I knew she was thinking of a time in the future.

'Have you told John you like the name?'

'No, not yet…he's still set on Hamish. He said it's been in his family for quite a few generations.'

'What about Oliver Hamish Watson? It could be a middle name, just like John's.'

'True!' She pulled herself off of my couch and made her way to Sherlock's door and knocked. Sherlock answered in a matter of seconds, followed by John.

'Everything alright?' John asked.

'I found the name I like!' She beamed, and I made my way closer to the couple.

'What name?'

'Oliver Hamish Watson.' John smiled and bent down to kiss her.

'I love it.' I saw Sherlock in the background rolling his eyes, and John checked his watch. 'Well, it's almost time for our appointment. Better be off.' Mary gave me a hug and they left, just like usual.

'I swear, if I have to hear one more thing about pregnancy or babies I will lose what little sanity I have left.' Sherlock complained from the other side of the flat.

'You should be happy for him. He's finally got what he wants.'

'He's tied down and therefore unavailable to help me.' I poured myself a cup of tea and made my way back into Sherlock's room where he was sitting at his table looking under the microscope. 'Molly, I could use your assistance.'

I walked over to him and he grabbed my hand.

'Hold your breath.' I did as I was told, and before I could stop him he had made a little cut on the tip of my finger.

'Ouch!' I cried, pulling my finger away, causing the knife to do more damage than necessary. 'Why didn't you tell me what you were doing in the first place!'

'You didn't ask.' He grabbed my hand and plopped a few drops of blood in a vile with a clear liquid.

'That knife better be clean.'

'Do you honestly think I'd taint a sample by using a dirt knife?'

'It's not the sample I'm worried about being tainted!'

'A few germs aren't going to harm you, Molly.' I sighed. His compassion was overwhelming. I took a bandage from the box he kept lying around and wrapped my finger in it before plopping myself in the middle of his bed. It was only seven, but I felt like I could go to sleep then and there. I curled up and threw the blanket over me. 'Going to bed early?' he asked.

'I don't know. Are we?'

'I'm not, but you're more than welcome to.' I looked over at him and he hadn't looked up from the microscope. He wouldn't go to bed for another few hours, I concluded, and chose to close my eyes.

Before I knew it I was asleep, dreaming, as I had been for a few months, of terrors that no longer existed except in my mind.

A gentle shaking roused me from my nightmares. 'Molly, wake up. You're dreaming again.' I bolted upright, and a hand grabbed mine, and squeezed reassuringly. It was dark in the room, so I guessed that I'd been asleep for some time. Not to mention I was still in my clothes from the day. I climbed out of bed and began mechanically removing my jeans and button up shirt, choosing to sleep in my tank and panties…in other words, I was too tired to go find pajamas.

'That's a new look.' Sherlock commented, his voice quiet, deep, and full of sleep.

'Yeah, I thought I'd try it out.' I replied, yawning halfway through. Sherlock held the blanket up for me to climb under and I made myself get as close to him as humanly possible, the cold nipping at my legs and arms. It wasn't long before his breathing got deeper and evened out, and I could feel the rise and fall of his chest against my back. He was asleep already. It must be pretty late. I closed my eyes again and joined him in his slumber.

I awoke the next day to the sound of the shower and the damp warmth of the steam rolling out of the bathroom.

It took a few moments before I could sit up and think properly. I was still beyond tired. I looked at my phone and it said eight a.m. I put my head back down on the pillow and closed my eyes. It was still acceptable to sleep for another three or four hours. I heard the shower click off, and the shower curtain pull open. I heard his dresser open and I opened my eye a little, just glancing...

He was just slipping his boxers on…to me, it was a wonderful sight. I quite enjoyed just looking at him…

'I thought you were sleeping.' He stated, catching me as I drifted off into a daydream.

'I was…and probably will be again momentarily.' I laid my head down, smiled at the thought of more sleep. I felt Sherlock climb in beside me, his body still warm and damp from the shower, the smell of men's soap clinging to him. He was lying sideways when I looked up, his feet hanging from the side of the bed, his head resting on my stomach. I reached down and rubbed small circles on his temples, his eyes closing, making me question whether or not he was awake. I didn't rouse him, knowing I'd woken him up last night.

My hand traced it's was down his chest and back up to his shoulders, where I outlined the pattern of a familiar scar. I ran my finger up over his chin and felt the stubble of an unshaved face.

'That's got to go.' I commented, not liking the feel of it against my hand. I rubbed my fingers over it, comparing it to sandpaper, surprised by the red coloring…I'd expected a dark brown, similar to his hair. 'Do you dye your hair?'

He sighed. 'I'll let you guess.'

'Why is your beard red?'

'You're quite like a child, Molly.' He responded, rubbing his face where he needed to shave.

'That doesn't answer my question.' I giggled. 'Are you Irish?'

'I'm not Irish, and I suppose it's just genetics, Molly. You should know this.'

'I should, but I don't.' I laughed. 'I don't think that I've ever seen you with facial hair.'

'I had no idea of the impact it would make.'

I leaned up, and he moved his head to my lap. 'You look nice either way.' I commented, gently caressing his face. I leaned down and kissed him, the sideways angle making it somewhat awkward, and my hunched over position leaving me out of breath faster than normal. '…Although it's like kissing sandpaper.' He sighed and moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

I followed him, and wrapped my arms around his chest, setting my head on his shoulder. I rubbed my hand up and down his chest, admiring the soft strength that was there.

'This seems vaguely familiar.' He commented. I mumbled in agreement, fondly remembering the time our relationship truly changed. I kissed the side of his neck, him laughing in the process, in turn making me laugh.

God, I loved his smile, his laugh…I didn't try to deny it anymore…I was in love with him.

'Do you have a case today?' I asked into his ear.

'Yes. In fact, I should be there right now. Lestrade texted me this morning to asking me go to east Sussex to investigate a double murder...'

'Sorry I woke you up last night…I couldn't sleep in my bed…you need to get a good night's sleep to investigate properly.'

'No, you're fine, Molly. You're fine where you are. I…just you're fine.' He stood up, unlocking my arms from around him, and pulled a pair of pants and a button down shirt on. He slipped on his shoes and left, just as he always did with a case. He didn't act excited about it, so I assumed he already had an idea of what'd happened.

I drug myself out of bed to take the shower I desperately needed. I elected to use Sherlock's, too lazy to go into my own. I ran the shower water hot, hotter than normal and threw myself in. I let the water run over me, hoping it would wake me up. It didn't help, and my tired mind sent me back into the days of old, days that my showering in his bathroom would have never happened.

Things had changed so much in such a little time.

John and Mary we having a baby…a baby that may, for some reason, make it through the door of this flat…I wasn't fond of kids, never have been. They'd always seemed to be oozing some sort of body fluid or making some noise. They were much more trouble than they were worth.

The idea of seeing Sherlock react around this baby was sure to amuse, though! If I was awkward around children, he would be tenfold.

Back on topic though…Sherlock and I's relationship had definitely changed…no doubt.

He was much more…open? No, not open, but not as closed off from the world, if you understand my meaning. He was in no way open, but he wasn't keeping me out purposefully like he had before.

Not to mention the intimacy between increased like crazy.

I mean…

Wow.

He still never answered or commented on what he considered us, or if he loved me, but I wasn't concerned…if he loved me, it would take a hell of a lot for him to admit it. If he didn't, then I know that he at least cares about me…

I sounded so pathetic.

Oh well, being pathetic was rule number one in my how-to-be pathetic book, I suppose.

I shut off the shower, afraid I would fall asleep, and climbed back into the bed, not bothering with clothes, and fell asleep.

There was a pressure on my wrist when I woke up.

'It's alive!' Sherlock exclaimed monotonously.

'What are you talking about?' I asked, beyond groggy.

'Since the last time I saw you I have taken the tube to east Sussex, solved a case, and taken the tube back from east Sussex. That's eight hours, Molly.' I sat up; my head feeling like it was in the clouds.

'Yeah, I'm still really tired.' I laid my head back down

'That shouldn't even be possible.' He mumbled, going over to his desk and setting up his microscope and slides. 'You realize that you won't sleep at all tonight?'

'I will sleep until next Tuesday.' I stated, shutting my eyes and drifting off into sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

I waited until Molly fell asleep to investigate the cause of her lethargy. I took her pulse, which I'd been interrupted in doing earlier, and her temperature.

_Insomnia. _That doesn't seem probable.

_Working long hours. _Possibly. She had picked up a few hours for Mary these past few weeks.

_Illness. _The most likely cause. She had seemed rather pale and warm to the touch.

_Diet. _If she was dieting again I'd be livid. I'd just gotten her back to her average body weight.

The advice on the website concurred with the advice John had given me: wake her up and monitor her sleeping and eating habits, as well as beginning an exercise routine.

It was all quite frustrating, really.

The part of myself which I loathed, the part with emotion and feeling, was more than willing to do to such dramatic extremes to see her better; yet the part of me which I considered to be more wise told me to let her work through this herself. She was an adult, she could handle it.

I stood up and placed myself by her side on the bed. 'Molly, you need to wake up.'

'I told you that I am sleeping until next Tuesday.' She stated, throwing the quilt over her head like a child trying to sway the attention of a parent.

'No, you're waking up right now.' I pulled the cover down, only to discover she was naked in my bed. I felt the blood rush to my face. Great, now I looked like the child.

'I have no reason to wake up, Sherlock. No motivation.'

Depression, maybe? Why would she be depressed, though? I marked it down as something to investigate at a later time.

I sighed, and, out of habit, laid my hand on her abdomen, forgetting its being bare. The skin on skin contact knocked me out of my stupor, and apparently did the same to Molly.

'Okay, I'm awake.' She stated, sitting up and taking my face in her small hands, kissing me as she did when she expected something more.

This was the part I hated to love, because under her marvelous spell I became like putty in her hands, and I didn't even care. I loved giving myself over to her, and hated that she had such a claim over me.

If I was being honest with myself that's why I couldn't tell her that I loved her. With the scientific description of love and the symptoms I'd been experiencing, I'd concluded long ago that I held a special sort of sentiment for Molly Hooper, not just a lust that I'd though it was in the beginning.

I wouldn't tell her that, though. That would be joining the losing side.

**What do you think?**

**Honest question though, do you think that I should maybe throw in Sherlock's POV every now and again?**

**I did it this time to see how people reacted...**

**So, do you like it? **

**;)**

**Review and let me know, and I can't wait to get this show on the road!**

**-TDM**

**PS- I'm thinking about writing John and my Mary a story (actually I've already started it)**

**let me know if you'd be interested in reading! :)**


	2. Oh, Baby!

"Up, get up." I felt someone shaking my arm. "Molly, it's time to wake up." I mumbled something in response, but that apparently wasn't what I was supposed to say. I could feel the cold hit my skin and I was sitting up in a matter of seconds.

"It's freezing! Give me back the blanket!" I shouted at Sherlock, who'd apparently just woken up himself judging by his messy curls and him wearing only his boxers. He was standing at the end of the bed, the blanket rolled up in his arms.

"No, it's time to wake up and stay awake. Now, let's get ready." He threw the blanket on top of a shelf that he knew I couldn't reach, and then walked over and grabbed my hand, dragging me out of bed.

"What time is it anyways?"

"Seven thirty." I could have died.

"What the hell are you doing waking me up this early!" I tried pulling my hand away from his, but stopped when I saw, for just the slightest moment, an expression of hurt on his face. I stopped fighting and let myself be drug out the room and into the kitchen.

"It's not healthy to sleep as much as you have been, so I am preventing you from getting an illness. Instead of yelling at me you should be thanking me."

When we stopped a reached on my tiptoes and kissed him. "Thank you."

His eyebrow raised, and he changed the subject. "You should eat something, but you can't drink coffee."

"Where did you get that from!" Taking my coffee away was too far…

"Doctor Stone's website on sleep and health." He said from memory, taking a sip from a mug, and I was sure it was coffee.

"Is that coffee, Sherlock?" I said, staring at him from across the counter.

"I'm not the one with a sleeping issue."

"Neither am I…my problem is staying awake, not sleeping."

"It said no coffee, and recommended exercise and deep breathing." I saw him smirk as he took another drink from his coffee.

I sighed. "I'm going back to bed. I think I exercise enough…" I began walking towards my bedroom where I knew that blankets would be waiting for me.

"No you're not." He grabbed me by the waist and wouldn't let me go. "You're already awake, now stay awake. It's for your own good, Molly."

"I'm a lazy person, Sherlock, and I have no plans on changing that any time soon." I turned around in his arms so I was facing him.

XXX

It was times like these when I could note a change not only in my personality, but in my entire being. Before (I wasn't sure when, but was working on pinpointing a time) I would have simply given up and let Molly walk away to sleep and pout, but now I held her to me, wanting nothing more than to help her and laugh with her, and see that smile she wore when she thought something was funny.

"Molly please stay awa-" She looked up at me and I stopped. God, she was beautiful. I'd noticed it before; although I wasn't even positive I'd ever told her so. John had mentioned that in one of his lectures about being more kind to Molly. "Molly…"

"Fine, I'll stay up. But when I fall asleep at five don't complain; especially since you refuse to let me have coffee."

"You always fall asleep early and I never complain." I said, confused by her statement, and losing my train of thought.

She sighed. "Never mind." She twisted out of my arms and headed for the couch. "This is as far as I'm walking for exercise, though." She kicked her feet up on the coffee table and leaned her head back.

Yes, I thought. She was beautiful.

XXX

It hit me like a ton of bricks as I laid my head down.

"I'm going to get sick." I said as I all but ran into my bathroom. My stomach turned and I gagged just as I reached the toilet, losing everything that had been in my stomach.

Of course Sherlock would walk in at a time like this trying to play doctor. This was disgusting! Why would he want to be in here? "You don't want to be in here, Sherlock." I warned him as he came through the door. I flushed the toilet and wet a rag to wipe my face. "I don't want to get you sick." I looked in the mirror and he still hadn't moved; he simply watched me, gauging my reaction.

"You're not going to get me ill; I take measures in insuring my immune system is in top shape." He looked at me for a moment longer as I grabbed my toothbrush and brushed away the nasty taste in my mouth, replacing it with a minty flavor. "Are you alright?" he asked, laying a hand on my shoulder.

"I actually feel…" I waiting a moment to see if I actually felt as good and I thought I did. "I actually feel pretty wonderful." His eyebrow shot up in confusion at my statement. "It's true."

"Molly, you just got sick, and you're saying you feel wonderful?" His voice was incredulous.

"Well, I'm still tired, but other than that I feel fine." I checked my hair for anything that needed to be washed out and luckily found nothing. I gave Sherlock a smile to prove I was fine. "I'm perfectly alright."

I heard the buzzer as I was walking out of my bedroom, and heard Sherlock answer, inviting John and Mary up.

John came in looking as happy as could be, as had been his countenance for the past few months—I knew it was because of Mary and their baby. He'd easily gained ten pounds, I guess from Mary's pregnancy cooking. I'd been texted horror stories via John about what atrocious things she'd combine to eat. She's also made him try almost every single one, and when he hated it I would get texts from her saying how much John hated her cooking.

Mary looked different every time I saw her. I thought back to the day when I first met her at the morgue: She was beyond thin, but it was a natural kind of thin, and she had pale skin, and long pale blonde hair. Her large brown eyes were really the only thing about her that was dark—she was quite literally like a ray of sunlight. Now she looked like a different person. She was still petite, her average height topping out at 5'1", making all of us, even John, appear quite a bit taller, which was new for me seeming as I was only 5'3". Her old thin figure was no replaced with a large round stomach which was offset with slightly rounding features. Her cheeks looked a bit chubbier, her arms a bit softer. I say this, and yet she could still wear smaller jeans than I could.

When they walked in together it's like they were the epitome of happiness. They were hand in hand, and John still wore that awe struck goofy expression as he did the very first time he'd laid eyes on her. I was incredibly jealous, knowing that no one would ever look at Sherlock and I and go 'now that's a happy couple!' No, we'd forever be the odd…whatever we were.

"Molly," I was pulled out of my daydream. "Would you happen to have any pickles?" Mary looked at me with a smile, and John said something to Sherlock about how she'd eaten three jars of them in less than a week. I walked over to the fridge to see if I'd picked any up at the store, and realized soon after that there was hardly any food, and I'd probably need to go shopping.

"I'm sorry, dear. I'm afraid I don't have much of anything." I closed the door and saw her rubbing her stomach, and for a second I was envious of even that.

She and John could have a baby…have a cute little family.

I stopped the thought in its tracks. I wasn't cut out to be a mom and I knew it.

"Hey, I'm just going to go to the store and pick up a few things." I said, slipping on my shoes and leaving, not looking at how my hair looked or what I was wearing. I had to get out of there…for some reason the thought of being around Mary and her perfect little family was infuriating.

I'd never been one for jealousy, especially about this sort of thing, but I suppose it was just nature telling me what nature tells all women at some point in time. Mommy sickness is what my sister had called it a few years ago when she began having children. She saw her friends having babies and wanted a few of her own—so that's exactly what she did.

But with me it was different…I'd never wanted children. I don't even think I'd ever changed a diaper before and the idea of it scared me.

Before I knew it I was outside the steps of a clinic. I sighed and stepped in, knowing what I was here for. The receptionist greeted me and handed me a packet to fill out.

Name: Molly Eleanor Hooper

Reason for coming: Birth Control

I filled out the rest of the packet quickly and waited for the doctor, who, when he finally arrived, took me through a series of questions, and gave me the prescription. I felt a weight being lifted off my chest as I held the white bag in my hand.

No kids.

I ran through Sainsbury's and picked up little things like milk, eggs, bread, and pickles for Mary in case she was still there, and was glad I did when I arrived home. Mary was there, sitting on the couch with a pizza watching a movie with John.

"Where's Sherlock?" I asked. Instead of answering he sent me a text.

_He was smart and ran away to his room._

_-JW_

I almost laughed, looking at what was on the television. "You jump, I jump." I heard…of course she'd want to watch Titanic…

I put away what I'd bought and handed Mary the pickles, who then handed them to John for him to open. I smiled watching them. John didn't get upset, in fact, he'd reached for the jar. He smiled as he opened them and was happy to make her happy, it seemed.

I turned away from them and headed into Sherlock's room with a sack in my hand.

"Sherlock," I said walking in. "We've got to talk."

**Hey guys, sorry for such a long wait! **

**As some of you know I've been pretty sick, and more or less bed-ridden. **

**Thanks for not giving up on me! Much love to all on that account!**

**So, what do you think of Molly's not wanting to have kids? Do you think it'll change when she finally meets little Oliver?**

**Don't forget to review, and I promise that the next chapter will be a lot more...va va voom!**

**:)**

**Much love,**

**TDM**


	3. Short, Sweet, andSort of To The Point

**Hey duckies!**

**Did you miss me?!**

**Well, for now I am back, and these were the drabbles I'd posted on my website, but I was asked to post them here, which is what I'll be doing from now on I suppose! I've posted both that I wrote on this one page, so it'll be separated with "…"**

**BUT**

**I can't promise any regular updating, though the more you badger me the more likely it is to happen!**

**Much love I hope I don't disappoint!**

**-TDM**

**(Also, yes…I know one is in first and the other is in third person…I'm sorry but my brain wasn't thinking as I was writing ) **

I took roughly three steps forward to take ten back. Sherlock was watching me now, and he knew something was wrong…hell, he always knew when something was wrong.

"Molly, I see no need in hiding something from me." He sat down the paper over the coffee table, his hands already fidgeting from lack of either sleep, tobacco, or coffee. Maybe a strange mixture of all three?

"Sherlock…I'm not hiding anything from you. I'm just waiting for you to tell me what your already know and hate me for it." I swallowed the dry lump built up in my throat, wishing this had never happened.

"I know you're ill. That's quite simple and too boring for my tastes, Molly. Are you sure you're a doctor? Aren't doctor's supposed to know these things?"

"I work on dead people…" I whispered under my breath, cursing slightly as I did so. I was a doctor, yet people with half of my IQ and a quarter of my degree knew better than she did. The chances had always been against me.

I tugged on the edges of my robe, hoping that in bringing it closer to me that I might feel a little less vulnerable. It didn't work, and as the cold seemed to cling to me more closely I let the robe fall back into its normal place. Sherlock only rolled his eyes to my statement. Clearly he didn't understand what I meant by this…by we needed to talk.

"Sherlock, you're not going to like what I have to say." Finally, I got his attention. He looked over with a curiosity-raised brow.

"Oh, and what might this be that I despise so much? I feel as if I've been rather…extroverted for your benefit recently." It was true, he had been, more than I could say. Helping with work, cleaning, groceries, not leaving random body parts around the floor…

"It's a lot more intimate than that." I saw a faint blush creep across his cheeks. "And it's nothing you're doing wrong…it's just that…"

"Well?"

"I'm pr-" I didn't get to finish the statement before his eyes bore into my abdomen, and he sat still, still like a statue, rock and expressionless.

It was like this for thirty minutes before he became the man I'd know so long ago—hard and cold and unwilling to show emotions but to those close to him. I was one of these people…I thought, at lease.

It was only when he stood up and left without so much as a word did I begin to truly worry.

So much for everything.

….

It would be 3 days before Molly saw Sherlock again.

That was three days of her sitting with Mary and Oliver at her apartment, John and Sherlock at Baker Street.

"Don't worry yourself, love. John will talk some sense into him, I promise. He always does, right?" Mary gave her hand a pat, but could do little else as she supported the baby.

"Mary, your optimism is what proves you haven't known him long. Sherlock has never listened to reason, that's his problem. He tries to find concrete logic in everything, and if he can't he runs."

"But you love him?"

The question Molly least wanted to answer to.

"I try not to. Sometimes I wish I didn't. He never admits as much to me…and now this…"

"Molly, if Sherlock didn't feel some capacity of feeling for you then he would have left you long ago. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. John's told me as much." Oliver was her main focus, though her words were directed towards Molly. The short blonde now wore her hair short, preventing the small blonde haired-blue eyed baby boy from pulling on it (as he did to Molly's when he got ambitious enough to leave the embrace of his mother or father).

"John's a liar then. I know Sherlock! It's impossible for him to feel sentiment, and I don't expect that to change now. I just wish I'd been more careful…all of this stuff that they'd have to deal with…it just doesn't seem very fair."

"Molly, you and I, we're the luckiest women on the face of the earth. John is my rock, he's the reason that I smile even when things are worse that I could imagine. Sherlock I know is the same for you, even though he is a great deal more difficult than my John."

Molly knew what she was saying, but Sherlock didn't feel that way about her. Molly would never be Sherlock's "rock" or "the one" or whatever else lovers called themselves now a-days. "I don't feel rather lucky. I feel ill, and quite upset." As soon as the last word left her mouth, Mary's mobile buzzed with a text, and she promptly gathered her things, a confused Molly standing along with her. "What was it?"

"John. I was told that he has a cab waiting for me downstairs. Listen, Sherlock will come around, don't worry ab-"

"I'd much rather speak for myself." His voice was curt, but a smile still formed along Molly's lips at hearing the familiar velvet that was his voice. Molly gave her a look as if to say 'I told you so' before she left, little Oliver and his things in toe.

Once in the privacy of Molly home, the silence was thick and monstrous. "You're home." She said finally, breaking it for her own good.

"As ever Molly, your observation skills improve with each passing day."

With a roll of her eyes, she walked to him, wrapping her arms around him, met with a reluctant and small squeeze, more than she'd ever think to get. "I missed you. Are you here to stay?"

"I will stay as long as you need me to." Out of his pockets he pulled two books: one of baby books, one of what Molly should expect. "This is a book that I've taken the liberty to read and you need to do the same. It will tell you what you need to do, and I believe we can agree to have the child at Saint Bart's which take away from steps one and two."

Molly stood in shock, unable to believe what he was saying. Here he was, the man who refused to love, or possibly couldn't.

But she could, and she did. This only made her feelings more concrete.

"Sherlock…I think I'm in love with you."


End file.
